i have multiple responses to this.
a) i don’t know what to say, giraffepoliceforce??? part of me is like, the MOST PROUD OF MYSELF that i have ever been? like, i don’t know if this is a totally douchey not-okay thing to say to somebody who has just told me that they have a medical condition, but you came here by way of lesbian porn so i feel like at this point you already know i’m a bit garbage, but i sort of feel like making you laugh hard enough to BRIEFLY OVERCOME A MEDICAL CONDITION is the absolute pinnacle of anything i have ever or will ever do.
b) i hope you did nothing to help clarify, and that the Mystery of the Lesbian Porn will spread. one day obama will wake up and michelle will be leaning over him whispering WHO DID IT, BARRY? WHO BOUGHT THE LESBIAN PORN?
c) what a tumblr username, i love it and i want it to be a reality. how do we break this exciting new ground in revolutionary policework?
a) You should totally feel proud. You’re basically a doctor now. I don’t have a diploma to give you, but if anyone ever asks why you’re performing complex surgery on strangers tell them to talk to me.
b) I did nothing to clarify. Nothing at all. I laughed for several minutes and then just walked out of the store. This mystery— your mystery— continues to remain untarnished, growing and expanding into a legacy that I’m sure I will one day tell my grandchildren about.
c) Here’s the deal… the first thing we need to do is train the giraffes to use rollerskates. Sound strange? That’s because you’re not thinking big enough. Most giraffes have legs longer than six feet long, and the vast majority of them have at least four legs. Have you ever been rollerblading? The first several times one goes rollerblading is usually a mess. Your legs move in different directions, and your ass finds as many ways as possible to go from ass level to ground level as quickly and as painfully as possible. Now imagine doing that with four legs that are both longer than the majority of humans. It’s going to be a mess. The giraffes are going to fall down. The giraffes are going to not know what to do with their knees. There are going to be injuries. There are even going to be many giraffes that perish. This is all collateral damage. Casualties of war. Those that survive will be better, stronger, and better coordinated than any other giraffes. With these giraffes we shall form an elite force of crime-fighting ungulates the likes of which the world has never seen. Because these giraffes have mastered roller skating, and a giraffe that has mastered roller skating is capable on even the most complex of tasks. And those giraffes are going to kick. crime’s. butt.
i’ve been thinking a lot about this, giraffepoliceforce. a lot. i quit my job and now i do nothing but sit at home in my apartment, where i am now officially a squatter since i stopped paying rent, to think about this.
this is what i think:
- will they need special giraffe roller skates? yes. of course they will. but who has the technology to make it? is it us? is it china?? is it russia???
- who is the captain of the giraffe special crime unit? it has to be someone who is fluent in both english and giraffe. i would like to submit my resume for this position.
- who is handling the media on this? will we have a reality show to introduce the public to this scrappy new group?? how will we strike the balance between appealing to their sentimental nature (these are giraffes with families! lives! they struggle JUST LIKE YOU) and their fear of the state (make no mistake, these giraffes will FUCK YOU UP if you mess with johnny law).
- what will the giraffes eat? will there be a staff room? what do giraffe’s talk about around the water cooler? is it jeff, the giraffe detective that won’t ever shut up about the fact that he won the department bingo competition last christmas? fuck you, jeff. fuck you. all the other giraffes hate you.
- will we recruit these giraffes from the wild? what will we offer them? if i were a giraffe in the wild and someone said, “come be on an elite crime fighting task force,” i would say, “fuck you.” i would say, “look at me here, eating whatever i want whenever i want, sticking my tongue out so far i can basically touch my eyeball, doing giraffe things. you want me to put my life on the line for you? you want me to do paperwork? you want me to put my family at risk? get out of my face, obama. GET OUT OF MY FACE.” except of course that i would say all of it in giraffe.
jesus christ this blog is so fucking weird
so my school had this thing called “senior skip day,” except that senior skip day didn’t exist and every year the administration sent out emails in the spring that were like DON’T FUCKIN SKIP CLASS OR YOU WILL RECEIVE RESTRICTION (restriction was like, my boarding school’s equivalent of detention where instead of staying after school you had to go to bed early and help stuff envelopes advertising the summer program until your hands were BLOODIED AND CRIPPLED BY CARPAL TUNNEL) and every year the seniors were like YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!
- spoiler alert: yes they can? THEY ALWAYS CAN.
- 200 years of american high school and teenagers still think that there is a cap limit on kids in detention and that you can leave after 15 minutes if the teacher doesn’t show up.
anyway, my senior year, we all got together and nattered at each other until some brave soldier (i feel like it was my friend paula but WHO KNOWS) was like “OK SENIOR SKIP DAY IS THIS THURSDAY!!!! NOBODY GO TO CLASS OR UR A SCAB.”
- she didn’t say scab because she’s not from the 1920s and we aren’t newsies, though this story would be way more interesting if we were
- what she said was “YOLO THEY CAN’T PUNISH ALL OF US!!!!!”
- except not yolo because it was 2009 and drake hadn’t been invented yet except as a dear sweet boy in a wheelchair.
we also used this email system to communicate with one another that has very deeply informed the way i understand email and which probably makes it very frustrating to be my friend and receive emails that have subject lines like “URGENT” and then just 42 links to the same florida georgia line youtube video.
- I’M NOT ASHAMED, but in that way where like i kind of AM ashamed so i’m really aggressively NOT ashamed?
so the day of reckoning rolls around and my alarm goes off at 8 (class started at 8:05 but i liked to PLAY WITH FIRE when it came to being late; my mom actually asked the school to stop emailing her when i was a sophomore because i was late so often that their rote “Mrs. Ofgeography we are emailing you to say—” was CLOGGING UP HER INBOX and she was like “i GET IT MY CHILD IS THE MOST BORING MISCREANT OF ALL TIME.”) and i looked at my roommate elle and she looked at me and went, “you going?”
"hell no," i said. "YOLO. they can’t punish all of us."
elle, who was far prettier and far cooler than i was with the notable exception of her obsession with tswift’s “love story” and her tendency to look at the endangered species list and cry sometimes during study hall, quickly bizounced across the street to this shopping center thing where all the cool kids smoked in secret where huge trucks dropped off clothes for the Dress Barn. i think there were also tennis courts nearby. more importantly there was this chinese food delivery place and a lil restaurant that made HELLA BAGELS.
- WHAT KIND OF BAGELS?
off goes elle! meanwhile i’m like, “yessssss i’m gonna use senior skip day to watch 14 hours of tv shows and eat frozen peanut butter bars that i stole from the dining hall! I’M GONNA LIVE LIKE I’M 23 ALONE IN CHICAGO ON A WEEKEND WHEN MY ONLY PLAN IS TAKEOUT AND CUDDLING WITH THE FAUX-SNOW-LEOPARD BLANKET I WILL ONE DAY SURELY OWN.”
of course, during this time the administration was continuing to send out emails that reminded us with increasing urgency that senior skip day was NOT A THING and that we were ALL GETTING RESTRICTION if we didn’t get our STUPID ASSES TO CLASS, GODDAMNIT, WE ARE NOT RUNNING A CIRCUS HERE.
but i was like! yolo, motherfuckers!!! i already got into college, YOU CAN’T TOUCH ME.
at some point during the day elle and our friend ginna came back to the room with takeout from the chinese delivery place and we sat on our floor eating it and probably watching veronica mars or looking at the endangered species list and crying.
all of a sudden, elle said, “guys shut up, guys shut up, GUYS SHUT UP,” and ginna and i were like, “WHAT we have a LOT to SAY about FRIED FUCKING DUMPLINGS, ELLE," and elle said, "did you hear that?"
'that' was the sound of one of our dorm moms, mrs. f, knocking on doors and saying things like, “IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BUTTS TO CLASS IN 5 MINUTES YOU'RE ON CATEGORY 4 RESTRICTION FOREVER.” elle quickly scampered up our raised beds to hide in the corner, where a tiny human like elle could actually hide from view; i leapt immediately into what we called a closet but was basically a cubby with a flap that was DEFINITELY not meant for a 5'8” individual with knobby as hell knees.
our door, which was never locked because we both hated the effort of typing in the lock code, opened. mrs. f said, “mollyhall?”
i held my breath.
- i should add here that i seemed to be operating on like a scooby-doo level of logic where basically i thought that she was somehow NOT ALLOWED to investigate?
- like, if she can’t see me, there is NO POSSIBLE WAY that she could prove i’m in here, right?
- she’ll just poke her head in and be like oH GOSH NO KIDS HERE and leave!!
you can see the flaw in my logic.
mrs. f sighed. “mollyhall, i know you’re in here, i literally heard your voice ten seconds ago.”
- there’s no WAY she guesses i’m in the closet!!!
"mollyhall, i know you’re in the closet."
- NO YOU DON’T
- I AM SCHRÖDINGER’S SENIOR
there was a creak. mrs. f stopped. it wasn’t actually a “creak,” so much as this like, prolonged groan? like it’s the sound an elephant would make if it sat on a really large accordion.
i poked my head out of the closet. mrs. f looked at me. elle sat up.
i said, “where’s ginna?”
- YOU KNOW WHERE GINNA WAS.
"um," said elle, "she’s in the—"
- GINNA NO
i really wish i could describe the sound the ceiling made when it collapsed. it sounded a lot like the way losing your breath feels. i sort of remember ginna falling in like, really slow motion, like i could see the expression on her face. i didn’t really think about how i would describe this in words. ginna’s face said:
- oh no.
- what have i done?
- this was a mistake.
- i regret a series of decisions that i have made.
- is there a way out of this?
- are those oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
- why are there oreos under mollyhall’s pillow?
- mollyhall, you HAVE a food cupboard, what good is a food cupboard if you don’t—
- oh, crap.
she belly flopped onto the floor. i mean, the girl bounced. and then she just laid there. mrs. f looked at her. elle looked at her. i looked at her, still mostly in the closet. we were all going to get category 4 restriction forever.
ginna said, “hi, mrs. f. i feel like i should explain.”
Miley: “Dad I have something for Tanners bug collection”
my uncle: “that’s great”
Miley: “it’s a bird”
my uncle: “no its not”
They let it go and it flew away just fine, so we’re wondering how she caught it.
she caught another bird.
update: she caught a squirrel today
She is gonna rule the world one day with this power
hey can someone send me some recs for novel-length fics that are specific to my stringent tastes and are completed with an ending i approve of